I chuckle. “The wind was biting. Not to mention, it was a long walk.”
“It was, but I’m so happy you took me. What an incredible, picture-perfect winter wonderland.”
“Nothing compares to Aspen at this time of the year.”
She trembles, her teeth chattering.
“Let me light up a fire,” I say. “It’s not warm enough in the cabin.”
I took Michaela on one of my favorite trails. It offers enchanting scenery of the area, but it’s a good trek through the snow and the trees.
As we were ending our discovery walk, we spent another hour doing rugged outdoor stuff—making snow angels, throwing snowballs at each other, and attempting to make a snowman. That got cut short when the wind picked up and snow started to fall hard.
Since Michaela couldn’t feel her fingers and toes, we retreated to the cabin. By the time we reached the door, snow had blanketed our footsteps.
“Thank you,” she says.
It doesn’t take me long to get a fire going.
“Nice and toasty,” Michaela says. “I still can’t get over the magnificent penthouse in Los Angeles or the mansion in Malibu, but this…” She opens her arms out. “The obscenely rich have a different definition of the wordcabin. This is the lap of luxury.”
“It’s cozy.”
“Right.” She nods. “As cozy as the yacht, private plane, chauffeur, personal chef, cleaning lady… and the list goes on.”
“There’s nothing wrong with living well, when you’ve worked for it, kitten. And, don’t forget, you get to enjoy all of thiscozinessas well.”
She offers a dazzling smile. “I’ve said it before, the life of a billionaire’s wife is nice work if you can get it.”
We both laugh.
Six months into this marriage, and she’s still a fascination. She appreciates the life I offer, but she never takes it for granted. Thank God she hasn’t transformed into one of these obnoxious-stuck-up-entitled women who ride on their husband’s fortune.
She doesn’t have to work, but she shows up every day. And, every morning as she strolls through the lobby on her way to the executive floor, she makes it a priority to greet guests and employees with a huge smile. She says it’s something her mother instilled in her, something ingrained in her DNA. I respect that about her.
“It’s getting warm in here now.” She fans herself.
“Too warm?”
“Nah, I’ll remove some layers.”
She pulls the powder blue cashmere sweater over her head before removing her insulated pants. There’s nothing provocative or overly sexual about the way she removes her clothes, but my cock stiffens. She’s now dressed in a form fitting white camisole and black leggings. After six months in LA, her creamy white skin is now sun kissed. She’s a true Los Angelina. My eyes brush down the length of her sexy ass body. One glance reveals she isn’t wearing a bra and I don’t see any panty lines.
I approve.
God, my desire for this woman is off the Richter scale.
No matter how many times I fuck her, it’s still not enough to satisfy the insatiable pit inside me.
She folds her clothes with care, walks back to the foyer, and drops them on the wooden bench before reemerging.
“We’re going to have a copious dinner at Dad’s cabin in a few hours with the whole family, but there’s always room for a treat,” I say. “Kahlua hot chocolate and homemade cookies?”
“Like I’d say no to that?”
“Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”
I head to the wall-mounted iPhone dock in the hallway that controls the multi-room system offering surround sound throughout the cabin. I place my phone there and strut to the freezer. I pull out an assortment of frozen cookie dough, place half a dozen balls on a cookie sheet, and then slide them into the oven. I get to work on the hot chocolate. I’m no wizard in the kitchen, but Mom taught all her boys how to prepare kickass spiked hot cocoa.
